


"One shots"

by AuroraDefae



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:58:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraDefae/pseuds/AuroraDefae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My one shot fictions that have previously never been published. Another one to not judge me on. No editing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"One shots"

“Here you go,boys,” said Mrs. Hudson as she handed John a new bottle of jam. Strawberry, his favorite. “Thank you Mrs. Hudson,” John said as he reached for his back pocket.

“Oh no dearie, it’s okay, I heard you two arguing and found a new one in my cupboard.”

As Ms. Hudson turned and left, John almost swore she winked at Sherlock, but his face remained impassive behind his microscope. Funny how when seemingly emotional stuff happened, poof, microscope. Like when he asked for Irene’s phone. Hard to believe she was really dead, after her (first?)  fake death.

Thinking as he looked for bread, John wondered if the jam was really Sherlock’s doing and he just didn’t want to admit he felt sorry for eating all of John’s favorite jam. At least that was what he hoped the jam had been for; he hoped it wasn’t faking blood somewhere or pickling some body part in the fridge.  He shuddered at the thought.

“Are you cold?” came Sherlock’s monotone voice as he passed the kitchen. “You could light a fire if you want.”

“No, I’m fine. I was just hoping my jam wasn’t pickling something in one of your crazy experiments,” replied John as he watched Sherlock take out his violin. Now to mention it, Sherlock’s eyes did have a gleam of an idea lighting in them. “Not like I was saying you should do that,” interjected John before the idea got too far.

He turned back to his now burned toast and spread the jam over it, savoring his first bite as he looked for a place to hide it from Sherlock.

“First cabinet on the left. Knew it,” came Sherlock’s disembodied voice over his violin. John hastily removed it, looking around the messy kitchen for another hiding spot.

“The fake pickle jar. Quaint.”

“Alright Sherlock, you win. I just want to enjoy this jam tomorrow with tea, without you eating or pickling something with it,” yelled John in the violin’s direction.The music stopped, and John felt sorry, but he certainly wasn’t going to apologize first. The silence continued, awkwardly stretching out. Sherlock’s voice tentatively cleared before her said, “I’m sorry, John. You need to remind me not to be all genius around you.” The music picked back up, a few notes out of tune.

“You mean all smart-alecky, don’t you?” replied John, still a little frustrated. Now Sherlock hit the strings all high pitched. “I’m sorry Sherlock, I guess it’s been a long couple of days with all these cases, making us all tense,” half-muttered John, deflating.

“As long as our apologies are out of the way, can I have toast with some jam,” Sherlock said deviously as John came into the living room. John, suddenly emboldened by Sherlock’s attitude, seized the nearest pillow and threw it at Sherlock, who nimbly ducked, laughing. Suddenly, John was attacked by the same pillow, and realized he was laughing too.

****

“All forgiven, Sherlock,” John choked out in between laughs.

* * *

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* * *

 

******  
  
**

The Doctor could hear his hearts thundering as he ran deeper into the tardis, the heartbeats in the chameleon circuit beating a steady tattoo against his hand. He arrived at the safe, frantically undoing the locks and security checks before setting the circuit of the most powerful timelady into the tiny metal box. He tried to forget her as the locks clicked shut behind him. I am not alone.

 

* * *

 

My mind raced as my class sat in shock. Our teacher had just disappeared in front of our eyes. The kid next to me started to squeal breathlessly, and I leaned over and slapped them before they screamed. Their eyes refocused, filling with confusion and questions. Around me, kids were handling the shock in their unique ways. That was when the school filled with screams.

I quickly seized my own questions before they came out all jabbered in my shock. As I walked to the door, my friend, Erin, raced up and pulled me back. She said something about me disappearing too, and I protested, saying, “No. Someone need to take control of this situation.” At this, I turned and walked out. Kids hanging out of doorways bombarded me with questions. I generally told them to stay in the room, or move away from exterior placed rooms, and try to stay quiet. We did need to take stock of the situation.

I took out my phone, the dialing ringing in my ear before my Whovian friend, Sam, answered. We knew each other too well; the meeting place and the doctor’s parallel universe were both accepted and agreed upon with, “Hi...yes, that’ll do. Yes, all over it.”

The front office of the school was deserted as I searched for the overhead speaker. I found it before saying into it, “Everyone! Calling everyone from their panicking! It seems every adult has disappeared into thin air. Try to stay together and away from the outside. Also, try not to all call home at the same time, or the airways will jam and nothing will go through. Situation reports on the hour. Keep Calm.”

I glanced at Sam who had just entered, and Erin. Rubbing my temples, I asked them, "what do you think happened. Remember, no theories are too crazy now.” They just shrugged, at a lost for words. I sighed before pulling a chair out from a desk and collapsing in it. As usual, my body felt too strong for my heart, and I was starting to feel faint. Even though it hadn’t been an hour, I reached over to the speaker, announcing, “Hello again everyone. First off this is Jessica Decalte speaking. I want you to take attendance and come to the main office in pairs to report. If you are out of class, please report back, we don’t need false panicking. And last thing- don’t change at bell. Thanks you.”

Students started to come up, telling me that every student was present that had been present before fifth period, when this had all started. Sam took notes, occasionally saying hi to people she knew. That was when he walked into the school. A tall-ish man that perfectly copied the eleventh doctor. Either we had a crazy on our hands or he was properly real. Nonetheless, I pulled the speaker towards me and asked for some football guys to come down for security as the man saw my two friends (I was in the back, out of view) and started walking towards us. I saw the football players running down the hallway, and hoped this man wasn’t crazy.

****

He strode in, exchanging greetings with my two friends, who just sat open-mouthed. Then he saw me, and nearly jumped out of his skin, taking an involuntary step back. “S..Savior?” he stammered out before turning on his heel and fleeing the room. I stood rooted to the spot in complete shock. The Savior is what I had always joked my timelord name would be.

About a half-hour later, the Doctor came back in, puffing, and he handed me a watch. I could feel the power radiating from it. It also felt...celestial in a way. I turned it over in my hands, feeling the smooth metal and the grooves where Gallifreyan was carved into it. As with every language I had tried to learn, I had picked up some letters from the elegant symbols. I traced one of them, reading something along the lines of ‘Elauenasa’ before it swooped into another name that proved to be impossible to read. My finger itched on the button to open it as I exchanged looks with my friends. Erin was shaking her head no, but Sam was nodding her head yes.

I slowly clicked the button, and the glow seeped out, dancing. I began to feel the heavens, oh what a universe. As I inhaled my regeneration energy I felt a second heartbeat spring up, and I felt strong for the first time since Jessica Decalte remembered.

****

 

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* * *

 

"No, no, no! That would be impossible with the mass of all the planets!"

****

A bell rung over the Doctor's head as he walked into the coffee shop. Before he had a chance to ask why people were arguing about space in a coffee shop, another voice called over the din, "Well, obviously Aubrianna," which was met by laughing as the original voice retorted, "The name is Jessica, smart one." The Doctor raised his eyebrows as he located the girl. She spoke as if she was Texan or Dutch, but looked as if she had been transported straight from a street in New York. A big white frappuccino rested on top of her Coffee News, her laptop sitting haphazardly on the table. She glanced toward the door, noticing him and calling out, "Oi! You sir! What, in your opinion does the phrase the fabric of space mean?" The Doctor just glanced at Clara before turning around and asking the girl, "Who are you?"

****

The girl smiled before replying, "Jessica Decalte, consulting writer and universe theorizer."

****

From a table near the window came a loud, sarcastic voice. "Don't listen to her mate. She's really Aubrianna Holmes!" This loud correction was met with laughter throughout the coffee shop, and Jessica impatiently huffed as she resumed typing on her laptop. The teenager sitting by the window started to call out again, but Jessica just pointed at him, saying, "Watch it mister. I could type you into my novel."

 **  
**Stalking through the mass of mismatched chairs and uneven tables to her, the Doctor asked, "What's your novel about?" A few people laughed around him, but the ones in the immediate surrounding hushed, making her blush slightly. She brushed the hair out of her eyes, taking a breath before replying, "It all started with a question. Like, what the world would be like if we could bend the fifth dimension, and create a space that was bigger on the inside. I'm sorry, do you have a problem?" She ended up directing towards Clara, who had gasped sharply. After his companion had shook her head, Jessica continued, “I’ve set in the year 6512. I swear, it’s just turning into a more futuristic, less totalitarian government 1984. Bleh,” she finished, sitting back and grabbing her frappuccino.


End file.
